coffee stains
by marblesharp
Summary: Haymitch and Johanna have important matters to settle before the Mockingjay Trial - over coffee, of course.


**coffee stains**

* * *

"On second thought, make that two." Johanna reaches into her purse for more money. She pays, then leaves the change for the tip jar on the counter as well as another jar next to it that's labelled _war effort_. She figures the meaning has changed now.

The wait isn't eventful for her but for many other customers. They recognize her enough to stare and gossip - must be her victor status. She couldn't do shit in the rebellion besides the training propos in Thirteen and, before that, not shrieking out every bit of secret rebel information she knew while those Capitol bastards… Of course, that was all off-camera. They don't know the extent of her loyalty to the rebellion; it's hidden under shirt and coat sleeves, a scarf, and a winter cap.

Carrying the drinks, Johanna searches for Haymitch in the cafe. He's slouched in a booth in the far corner, expressing how much he didn't want to come here with a scowl that could freeze fire. Obviously, he's still pretty pissed about this morning. He'd wanted to visit Katniss or Peeta - or most likely both, the tenderhearted bastard - but Johanna assured him that Katniss was still sitting on her bed singing low, creepy songs and that Peeta wanted time to plan what he was going to say in Katniss' defense at the trial this afternoon. Sure, she'd lied about Peeta, but Johanna knew the kid could handle a few hours without Haymitch at his bedside.

"I can't believe this damn place survived." Haymitch shakes his head in petty disgust. A few customers think he's directing some kind of resentment toward them, and their eyes flit away, insulted yet embarrassed. They're not completely wrong.

Chuckling, Johanna replies, "Nero's will be here forever. Wasn't your first kiss here?"

"Of course not. First kiss from a _victor_," he sighs, "yes."

"The first of many." She offers one of the coffees to him. "Here. Also the first of many if you play nice."

"What's this?" He eyes the frothy caramel latte suspiciously.

Johanna rolls her eyes, wanting to snap, _Oh, I paid for an extra drink just to poison you_. "An indirect peace offering," she says calmly, or rather, calmer than she expected. "Really, they'll be fine."

He takes a tentative sip and shrugs. "Peace offering accepted. But this ain't coffee, it's melted ice cream."

She smirks. "What, upset that it's not your hick brew?"

Haymitch makes a face. "That's just all grinds, completely black unless you can afford milk and sugar."

"So you love it."

"I do." He sips the coffee longer this time with a reluctant face that tells Johanna she may have gotten him addicted to another drink. The only danger in that is just caffeine and calories, not a muffled, swollen life of constant inebriation. "Don't assume this will win me over, though; I still think what you did was a bad decision. Some gussied up coffee won't change my mind on that."

Johanna shrugs. "Maybe it wasn't my best move, but then it was also a bad idea sending me back to the Capitol in the first place since the last time I was here, _I almost died_." She quirks a brow at him, challenging him to argue against that.

He chuckles darkly. "That's become something of a normal trip, hasn't it?" Knowing he wouldn't make light of something like that unless it really bothered him, Johanna isn't particularly offended.

Still, "You wouldn't know," she retorts, even though she doesn't believe it. Haymitch knows death as much as she does, knows how tempting it is until it's forced onto you, and then you fight with all your might to evade it. The difference between them is how recent their physical scars are, and apparently that's enough of a difference.

"Johanna…" His shoulders slump, and he drops his gaze to the steaming drink in his hands. "I'm not going to pretend like I'm surprised. I understand why you did it. I do, all right? You - as well as many others, including myself - have every right to hate the people who've hurt you for years. But I hate _them_, not their kids." Just to be an idiot, he blows across the surface of his coffee, watching the lazy ripples. "Now, _Enobaria_ was a surprise."

"No, Enobaria likes causing as much pain and suffering and misery as she can." Johanna is aware she's exaggerating, not remotely telling the truth, but she doesn't want to be compared to Enobaria fucking Castro.

Haymitch clicks his tongue in derision. "You're a bit biased considering you despise her."

She huffs. "Well, forgive me for not welcoming her back with open arms. I'm sure she's _so_ glad she didn't have to suffer while we did."

"We don't know that for sure," Haymitch reminds her. "She _did_ vote against them. Besides, it must at least be awkward for her, being the only Career victor left."

Resting her chin in her palm, Johanna murmurs through fingers curled up near her lips, "And I'm just as bad as her." The comparison is inevitable.

She'd thought it was a four-three vote. So did Coin. That was what really mattered, Johanna tries to remind herself. But the vote was actually two-five, and she and an indifferent non-rebel wanted to continue the Capitol's Games out of revenge.

"I don't think either of you are bad," he mutters before fishing out his flask. At Johanna's slight frown, he tells her, jaded, "Look, I'm going to need this for the next few hours."

"Whatever. I know not to judge you for your bad decisions." Her smirk is dark; he scowls at her fiercely.

"Johanna."

Shrugging, Johanna swirls a spoon around in all the whipped cream. There's a lot of it. "They won't have sugar once the damage catches up with them."

Haymitch holds up his spiked drink. "Should we toast to that?"

"Why not? We're all in this together. To war-torn, sugarless Panem!" Their ceramic cups clink dully.

Leaning back against the upholstered booth, Haymitch scrutinizes the crowded cafe. "How can they just keep going about their lives like this? They were running through the streets seeing people get killed by pods a few weeks ago, and rioting in the Circle just last week. Now they're out and about, ordering coffee or muffins or whatnot like everything's normal again."

"They need the regularity," Johanna says, looking around as well. "I mean, wouldn't they? They've watched the Games for years and suddenly they were forced to play as well, and they didn't know how to fight back because the resentment and the verve wasn't here like it was in the districts. Ordering hot, sugary, delicious drinks is safe and ordinary for them."

"Pretty deep insight from someone who can't even sympathize with a Career. And you wanted to send their kids to their death?" At her scowl, expressing betrayal and vulnerability as well as anger, he raises his hands. "Don't. I know. I know but I won't apologize, and you don't have to either."

Johanna folds her arms on the table, nodding a little. Though the accusation hurts coming from him, somewhere in her heart she appreciates the blunt honesty.

There's a moment of mutual coffee-drinking. The televisions placed throughout the cafe continue to announce the upcoming _Mockingjay Trial_ - Haymitch cringes at the title, determining it's obviously the work of Plutarch - as well as list casualties, both soldier and civilian. Haymitch and Johanna share a grim look at how many were caused by the rebels right before the parachute bombings. After a few minutes of reporter after reporter detailing the damage, people stop watching.

Finishing her drink with a loud flourish, Johanna gets up. "Take that with you, old man," she tells him, gesturing to his drink. "We should head out now."

As he slides out of the booth, Haymitch predicts with miserable glee, "We're so going to mess this up, start trash-talking the girl or something."

"Have a little faith. Nobody else got a quick confessional before swearing an oath."

"Oh, I was supposed to admit something?" He opens the door for her. A bell jingles.

"You said you understood why I did it," Johanna points out, holding the door open for him after she crosses through.

"But that doesn't mean _I'd_ have ever truthfully voted yes."

"So you _do_ want to confess something? Keep bitching and you will."

Taking her hand to guide her away from the crowd that mills around outside - because he's Haymitch and of course he detected her freeze up at the sudden surge of strangers - Haymitch says, "I confess that I liked having coffee with you."

"Well, you're paying next time," Johanna agrees, secretly surprised she hasn't bristled at his touch or, well, let go. It's a gesture that would well up too many unwanted emotions in her, all chaste and genuine, the kind of contact that scares her.

But she lets him hold her hand, both of them warm from the coffee amid the winter chill.

* * *

AN: Just a little birthday fic for my friend Deathmallow over at AO3. Any feedback would be much appreciated!


End file.
